


we can have today

by carefulren



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Pity, Sickfic, TMA Ep 181, Whump, Whumpfic, ep 181, i like the details they don't give us, i thrive off of them, jonathan sims cannot have nice things, okay i just wanted to write a little thing with Jon getting all dizzy and confused, while he and Martin are vibing with salesa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: Just a little take on Jon's deteriorating state with the absence of the Eye while he and Martin are hanging with Salesa.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 175





	we can have today

“Alright, Jon?” 

Jon cannot, for the life of him, wrap his mind around Salesa’s statement, or any statement for that matter. His thoughts keep brushing the edges of words, chasing them, but they cannot and will not catch up. It’s... disconcerting, the one word his mind will clearly spell out for him. His head aches with fuzzy confusion, and he almost feels powerless within his own mind, having grown so used to the Eye’s force. 

“Jon?”

Jon’s eyes drill a hole in the wall, seeing but not truly seeing. He nibbles absently at his thumb, a furrowed, distressed look etched to his face. He’s not fond of this feeling... not fond of feeling. His body feels simultaneouly too light and too heavy. He feels grounded to the chair beneath him, and yet, his head’s bobbing water. 

If he could just _think_ , then maybe he can...

“Jon!”

It’s not Martin’s voice that brings Jon back above water, but rather, it’s the sudden intrusion of fingers snapping in front of his face. He jerks back, blinking around the frayed edges until Martin’s familiar, worried face steadies into view. 

“Martin?”

“Christ, Jon!” Martin stands from his crouch, taking a few steps back to flick wide eyes all across Jon’s hunched in frame. “You completely spaced out on me!”

“I...” Jon blinks slowly, muscles relaxing after the sudden jolt. “Sorry,” he mutters because what else is he to say? ‘Sorry, Martin, I feel like I’ve been left to my own mental devices for the first time in a very long time, and I’m not sure what to do with all this empty space?’ No, he thinks, that will most definitely not pan over well. 

“Jon!”

Jon jerks his eyes from the floor back to Martin, taking in the sharp frown with one of his own. “I did it again?”

“Yes,” Martin breathes out, so much concern pushing through the one word. “Jon, what’s going on?” Martin drops back to a crouch in front of Jon, hands firm yet cautious on Jon’s knees. 

“I... I think I’m just tired.” It’s not a lie, he thinks, because he is tired, exhausted even. There’s something about this place that makes him feel so normally human, and he’s struggling to keep up. 

“Really? We’ve slept for 71 hours, Jon.” 

Jon wants to shrink against the worried disblief laced in Martin’s tone. He doesn’t want to worry Martin, not when the two have a chance to relax. He forces a smile and a light laugh. 

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid my body’s still got quite a bit of catching up to do.” 

Martin’s face twists to something akin to fond sympathy, and he pops to his feet, nodding. “Sure, yeah, that does make sense without the whole, spooky Ceaseless Watcher business.” He glances back to the bed. “Shall we take a nap?” 

“Ah, yes,” Jon says slipping to his feet. He sways, his balance teetering, and Martin’s quick to step around to his side, snaking a steady arm around his wasit. “Sorry, I...”

“You’re tired,” Martin supplies, his light tone contradicting the unfiltered concern furrowing his brow. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

***

This unsettling pattern goes on for two days. Jon spends much of his time spacing out, unable to follow along with even the simplest of conversations. He tries to throw the abrupt lightheadedness by eating, working hard under the assumption that his body’s trying to compensate for endless days without the need for food. However, the food doesn’t seem to touch his dizzy spells. If anything, they appear to get worse and more frequent with each, passing hour. 

Still, Martin’s relaxed, reminiscient of the eary days at the archives, and Jon doesn’t wish to take that that away from him for he rather likes waking slowly, calmly pressed to Martin’s chest each morning, with Martin’s arms gently secured around him. 

It’s when Jon wakes on the third day, feeling frighteningly weak and empty, that he starts to work around a conclusion, his mind dissecting short, simple words that come together far too slowy. He needs the Eye; every inch of his mind has grown completely dependent on it. He feeds off of it, off of the twisted, brutal stories that come to light with each, dark domain. 

Martin’s humming absently in the joint master bathroom, the door ajar, and Jon grunts into a seated position. His vision swims, and Martin’s humming grows faint against his own heart slamming against his chest, a roaring thump in his ears. He swings his legs over the bed and stands, but his vision fades the second his feet hit the floor, and he falls, one hand blindly slamming against a bedside table on his way down. 

“Jon?”

Faintly, he can hear Martin’s footsteps, and he drags a slow, unfocused gaze up to see Martin rounding the bed, toothbrush in hand. 

“Jon!” 

Martin’s face is suddenly crowding his vision. His hands latch onto Jon’s arms, and Jon clings to that present pressure, blinking around the haze creeping at the edges of his eyes. 

“Martin, I-”

“-you really don’t look well, Jon.” Martin mutters, the back of his hand brushing against Jon’s cheek. “You aren’t feverish, but you look so sick. I’m worried, Jon. You’ve only been getting worse.” 

“Martin-”

“I mean this is, what, the seventh time in the last day that you’ve been hit with a dizzy spell? That’s not normal, Jon.” Martin breaks with a heartless laugh. “I mean, Christ, nothing’s normal now, but this is definitely not normal-”

“-Martin,” Jon sighs, dropping his heavy forehead to Martin’s shoulder. “We need to leave.” 

Martin’s quiet for a long time; Jon briefly thinks Martin may have finally cracked under the weight of... well, everything, but then Martin sighs quietly into his hair, and Jon lifts his face, finding Martin’s worried eyes with his own, tired ones. 

“You need the Eye.” 

“Yes,” Jon whispers, trying not to curse himself too harshly when Martin’s face falls before him. “I’m afraid of what might happen if I hide from it much longer.” 

“That’s why you’re so weak.”

It’s not a question, but Jon nods anyway. “It’s my best guess.” He holds Martin’s gaze for a breathless minute, almost wishing that in this moment, he could spare a glance into Martin’s mind, to put words to the conflicting emotions tugging at Martin’s face. Is he mad? Disappointed? Frustrated? Sad? 

“I can hold out until tomorrow morning,” Jon tries, “I think.” He feels mutely empty, but moreso, he wants to rid the nerves that come with not truly knowing at all how Martin’s feeling. “One last day. Just us.” 

“Just us,” Martin parrots back, and he helps Jon up and back into bed. 

Jon sinks agaisnt the mattress, eyes fluttering closed, eager to shut out the dizziness. The bed dips at his side, and he instinctively rolls, pulled toward Martin’s gravity, until he’s curled up against Martin’s chest, inhaling Martin’s fresh, lively scent with a deep groan. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Martin’s arms tighten around him. 

“It’s okay, Jon. I may not get it, but I get you.”

Jon smiles, weak but warm. 

“Besides, I kind of miss seeing your whole creepy eye thing.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Team 'I just want Jon and Martin to have a happily ever after with tea and shit.'
> 
> Team 'I stopped accepting canon in season 1 when Martin came back from his Prentiss attack.' 
> 
> Come say hi or drop a prompt off on tumblr! (@toosicktoocare)


End file.
